Her brows knit, skeptical as hell. “Antonio—”
“Listen to me,” I cut in, and my voice roughens because I can’t stand the idea of her thinking I’m here to sell her another story. “We genuinely want to acquire Northstar for legitimate business.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give me anything.
So I keep going, because if I stop, I give her time to fill her thoughts with the worst version of me she can conjure up.
“We’re not looking for expansion,” I say. “Not like they are. Northstar makes sense because it strengthens what we already run. It’s synergistic. It’s a control of standards and compliance depth. It’s protection. It’s—” I swallow. “It’s a smart acquisition. One we pursued long before we knew about the competition.”
Her jaw is tight. “Andyet—”
“And yet,” I agree, because that’s the part I can’t pretend isn’t true, “we are not willing to let another syndicate move into our backyard.”
The words taste like iron.
Her throat works. She swallows.
“So yes,” I say, quieter now, “we’ve been keeping track of the competition. Because this isn’t just an M&A race. It’s territory and potentially a turf war.”
“A turf war,” she repeats, flat. Disbelieving. “You’re saying that like it’s a normal risk factor.”
“It’s not normal,” I say. “But it’s real.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you think I’m supposed to sit here and consider this new factor in the acquisition? A turf war between two rival mobs?”
“No.” I hold her gaze. “I think you’re supposed to understand what’s actually on the table. And understand that this isn’t about you and me. I’m not willing to leave you here blind.”
I shift on the couch, forcing myself to stay seated, to not crowd her, to not touch her the way my body keeps wanting to.
“I’m here to make sure you’re safe.”
“Safe from what, Antonio?” she asks and starts pacing again. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. But what are you keeping me safe from? What are you doing here?”
Her eyes cut to me, bright and suspicious.
“Why are you here telling me about the Bellandis?” she demands. “Are you hoping it’s going to sway my decision toward you? Is that what this is?” Her voice rises. “Another attempt to seal the deal? Try to guilt me into becoming organized crime collateral?”
I push off the couch and stand, my patience snapping.
“No,” I say, and it comes out firm enough to stop her momentum.
She holds her ground anyway, chin lifted, eyes daring me to lie.
I cross the space between us before she can turn away and take her by the upper arms.
“No,” I repeat, and tighten my grip briefly. “I’m not trying to sway you. I’m not trying to influence your decision. I’m not here to close a deal.”
Her breath is fast. I can feel the tension in her through the thin fabric of her tank.
“Then what are you doing here?” she throws back. “And don’t say ‘to keep me safe’ like that’s an answer.”
“It is the answer,” I say, and my eyes lock on hers. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Safe from what?” she asks again, and this time the words come out sharper, like she’s cutting straight to the point.
I hold her arms, not letting her twist away, because if she bolts back toward that door and slams it in my face, she’ll do it with her eyes closed to what matters and walk right into trouble.
“You’re right in the middle of it,” I tell her. “You are the person who makes the decision. You are the gate.”
